


Bindings

by ladyeternal



Series: Bindings 'verse [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Rimming, except she gave him permission, references to past non-con, technically infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal gets sick of Peter dangling prison in his face all the time. Fighting and other activities ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bindings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scatterglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/gifts).



> Spoilers: Allusions to events of S1E7
> 
> Disclaimer: The series White Collar, its characters and settings are the property of their respective creators. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored, and am only playing with the White Collar world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Written from a prompt from [scatterglory](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory). [Go see the lovely vid she made for me to “I Fought The Law” by the Clash.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbcYDb92m2c)  
> Title card by [](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/)**dawnie_faith**. Feedback = Love. ♥

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

 

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Another late night in June’s guest quarters. Neal drinking wine, Peter sipping beer, both brainstorming… or they were supposed to be. Neal, for his part, was stewing over the demons that seemed to swirl around them both.

Peter had been taking verbal pot-shots at him for days; the OPR incident had Peter off-balance, and his lack of trust in Neal was a fault line that had torn open the ground between them. Neal hated it: hated the fact that Peter had never really trusted him; hated the way Peter suspected him of everything and didn’t care about his motives; hated the way Peter dismissed his need to find Kate and the way Peter would scowl at him when he wasn’t _doing_ anything. Most of all, though, he hated the _reminders_.

At first, Neal hadn’t taken it too seriously. After all, Peter was the one who’d agreed to this deal, who’d gone to bat for him and gotten him out. It stood to reason that Peter wouldn’t send him back… wouldn’t let him be sent back… would stand up for him.

But the threats, the comments, the silent scowls of warning… it seemed like Peter told him at least once a week that if he didn’t toe the line, he’d be back in prison.

Back in Hell.

He couldn’t count on Peter. Neal knew that now. In the end, Peter had cleared him, but Peter had let him go to jail, wasn’t willing to believe him or believe in him. Peter couldn’t possibly understand how Neal felt about that… and then there was OPR and **Mentor** …

“Neal!” Neal’s attention snapped back to reality. Peter was scowling at him again, eyes pinning him to his seat. Neal wondered how long he’d been lost in thought. “You gonna help solve this one, or should I just call the bus now?”

Neal’s eyes narrowed. “Stop it, Peter. I was just thinking.”

“Well, just make sure it’s about this case and not Kate. Otherwise, I might just as well send you back now, because that’s where you’ll be going if we don’t close this.”

“I know!” Neal’s hand slapped flat onto the table in an uncharacteristic display of anger. “As if I could miss that with you reminding me all the time!”

Peter drew in a breath, his head tipping to the side. “You think I’m gonna let you forget what your alternative is? You’re my responsibility.”

“No, what I am is your pet convict,” Neal spat. “And even when I don’t do a damn thing wrong, you yank the choke-chain you’ve got around my neck just because you can.”

“Dammit, Neal! I put my career on the line-”

“I put my ass on the line!” Neal shot to his feet. “You think I’d blow this for anything? Even Kate? Why haven’t I run then, Peter? You _knew_ me, inside and out, for three years! Why haven’t I run? Why am I still here?”

“Because whatever your game is, it’s not over yet,” Peter snapped back. “Whatever angle you’re playing besides Kate, you’re still setting things up. When you’re ready, you’ll bolt, and I’ll have to find you… _again_.

Cerulean eyes narrowed to furious slits. “Right… because I’m your responsibility.”

“Damned right you are.”

“I’m a hassle.”

“Constantly,” Peter groused.

“And you’ve got to keep me on the straight and narrow."

“I’m trying to save your life.”

“And sending me back to prison is your way of doing that?”

Peter’s dark eyes hardened with resolve: the kind that comes from making a distasteful decision that could not be avoided. “If it comes down to it.”

“Right… of course… because being a prison whore is so much safer than life as a con.”

Peter recoiled as if physically struck. Neal felt a surge of triumph in his veins. “What?”

“Well, I suppose it’s more honest, in a way, than forging artwork or old documents or bonds. Of course, you can’t get HIV from committing forgery, so…”

“Cut it out, Neal.” Peter raked a hand through his hair. “It won’t work.”

“What, the truth?”

“I don’t think you’ve told the whole truth once in your entire life,” Peter spat.

“No? Well, here it is, then: I’m not going back. I spent almost four years letting murderers and rapists and worse fuck me with no protection, no lube and definitely no foreplay-”

“Stop it.” Peter was on his feet, pacing, trying not to imagine… not to hear…

“Oh, come on, Peter: you’re ‘responsible’ for me, after all. Don’t you want to hear what a tight fuck I am? Or maybe just about how good I am at giving-”

Neal’s words were cut off as Peter flashed across the space between them, grabbed his arms and shook him. Peter’s eyes were hard, dangerous, agony cutting like a blade. Neal gazed up at him, blue eyes mutinous, challenging, guileless, ignoring the vise-like grip of those hands and the thrill it sent through his veins.

“Enough,” Peter grated out. “You’re lying. You’re playing me, and it stops now, Neal.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You were never raped, Neal. There were no reports of anything like that in your DOC file.”

“You don’t have the right to my medical file, Peter. Big Brother doesn’t extend to HIPAA protected information. I checked when I reviewed the Bureau’s files on me.”

“Which means you’re counting on that to make me believe this crap.”

“You wanna see the scars?” Peter stilled. Neal pressed the advantage. “You can, if you want proof. I’m used to being strip-searched.”

“Neal…”

“Oh, Peter: stop being so naïve. I was in a maximum security prison with felons who have nothing left to lose. Look at me, Peter! What did you think was going to happen?”

Peter didn’t release him, but the grip loosened. Neal had to resist the urge to sway into that tall, powerful frame, to seek comfort in those arms. “How… often?”

“Not every day,” Neal told him softly. “Often enough. Wouldn’t make a complaint if I had to go to the infirmary after and didn’t report it if I didn’t. The staff tried to get me to name names, but I wouldn’t, so they couldn’t put it in my jacket. Just my medical file.”

“Neal…” His name was agony now, no longer a warning or a threat. Neal was amazed at how much meaning Peter could infuse into one syllable.

“I’m not screwing this up. I’m not sacrificing my freedom to play an angle. I’m the one that proposed this deal in the first place, remember?” Neal kept his voice soft, unyielding. He needed Peter to understand more desperately than he even understood. Peter _had_ to get this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The anguish in Peter’s voice cut deep. Peter kept saying that he felt responsible for Neal; deep down, Neal held Peter responsible for prison and everything that had happened inside. He wanted Peter to feel that, wanted to indulge the vindictive little voice that always asked him why he should suffer the memories alone. He wanted Peter to know exactly what the stakes were, wanted Peter to need on a gut level to keep Neal from going back there. He wanted Peter to stop dangling prison in front of him like a noose before a man about to be lynched.

It didn’t mean he liked how much it hurt Peter to know the truth.

“Would it have made a difference before? You don’t trust me, Peter. You never have. You’ve never understood how much I’m trusting you. Well, fine. You don’t believe what I say? You don’t believe I can keep my nose clean? Believe that I **_won’t go back_**.”

Peter struggled under the weight of it. Neal wasn’t playing, not this time. It felt like an anvil hitting him in the solar plexus. “You should have told me. I could have done… something…”

“You’ve done enough.”

Venom laced Neal’s words, enough that Peter almost gave in to the urge to beg for forgiveness, to confess his deal with Kate, a deal that was supposed to keep Neal safe, a deal that should never have precipitated a prison break. He should have known that Neal would do it, should have known that Kate and Neal would pass messages and play angles and have a plan to disappear. If it weren’t for the fact that Neal didn’t trust anyone with the location of his cache, Kate’s counter-scheme would have worked and Neal would have vanished with her before Peter could have tracked them down.

But Neal didn’t know about Peter’s deal with Kate. There was no way he could know. Neal wouldn’t be here if he knew, confessing all and driving railroad spikes of guilt through Peter’s chest. He would be gone. His trust in Peter would be gone.

Trust Peter needed if his plan to keep Neal safe was going to work.

Peter’s grip tightened again, possessive this time. “I did my job then. I’m trying to help you now. You should have told me. We can get you a counselor, if you want one… someone to help you deal with it…”

“A shrink to tell me it wasn’t my fault? That I had no control over the situation? That’s nice, Peter, except I already know the lines to this little play. I did what they wanted and didn’t fight because I knew I couldn’t win. I knew I didn’t have a choice but to survive. I did what I had to do; it’s not much different than letting a mark fuck me, if that’s what it takes to pull off a job. There are just niceties on the outside: things like condoms and HIV tests and ways to forestall if you really don’t feel like it that day.” Neal’s smile was mocking, brittle. “It’s part of the game.”

“Is that why you’re stuck on Kate?” Peter countered. “Because sex with her isn’t part of a game?”

“My relationship with Kate isn’t just about sex,” Neal hissed.

“And I’m not playing games.”

Peter’s words fell between them like a gauntlet. Neal took a moment, considering his options. He knew how to read marks, could read their tells and play their weaknesses. Peter felt responsible for him, for what happened to him. His grip was firm and possessive. They’d been dancing too long for Peter not to respond…

“Would you trust me if I let you fuck me, Peter?”

This time Peter did let go, recoiling in shock. His face hardened in warning. “Neal…”

“Why not?” Neal stepped closer, a slow, almost liquid glide. “I trust you. That’s more than I can say for anyone else… I’m not even sure I can say that about Kate anymore.”

“Don’t.” Peter couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off Neal… especially not when those nimble fingers began unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat. “Don’t, Neal.”

“You’re responsible for me,” Neal almost taunted, letting his waistcoat slip from his shoulders. “I trust you. We’ve been dancing around each other for years and you married a woman who could be my fraternal twin.”

“I married El _before_ I ever even _heard_ of you,” Peter defended. His eyes followed those long, talented fingers unbuttoning Neal’s shirt like a mongoose watched a snake.

Neal shrugged; his shirt slid from his shoulders and down his arms, baring his pale, firm chest and flat stomach. Peter’s mouth went dry. “You want me, Peter. I know you do.”

“No.” Peter backed up further, his hands coming up between them as if to ward Neal off. “No, Neal. This isn’t going to happen. Stop. Now.”

Neal stopped, mere inches from Peter’s out-flung hands. His gaze was steady, meeting Peter’s with no fear or submission. “I want you to trust me, Peter. I’ll do whatever it takes… even if it means letting you fuck me.”

“You can earn my trust by doing the job you promised to do when we made this deal.” Peter fought to steady himself, to keep from pressing his hands forward and smoothing them across those pale, perfect shoulders. “I’m going to go home, and we’re both going to get some sleep, and tomorrow: we get back to work and forget this happened.”

“If you say so, Peter.” Neal stayed where he was, Peter’s rejection buffeting him like wind off a glacier. Part of him actually wanted this… needed Peter to touch him… it had been so long since he’d been touched by someone he trusted…

“Okay.” Peter breathed deep for a moment, gathering strength to move. “Okay.” He pulled his feet free of the floor, stepped to the chair he’d been sitting in and retrieved his jacket. Neal didn’t move, standing still as a statue as Peter mumbled a goodbye and left.

He didn’t hear the sob of pain that wrenched out of Neal’s chest as the door latch clicked.

* * *

No trace of their confrontation lingered in Neal’s behavior the next day. He was all charm and bright blue eyes and sparkling wit, effortlessly guiding the solution of the case without the slightest dent in his confidence.

Peter went home exhausted, bleeding from a dozen soul wounds inflicted by Neal’s casual grace. Now, he knew the darkness it hid, or part of it, at least. Darkness he’d caused.

By the weekend, Peter was barely himself. Dark circles hollowed beneath his eyes; he became almost monosyllabic, even with Elizabeth. Satchmo curled up near him, sensing his distress, but a faithful pet’s devotion could only do so much. Guilt was eating him alive… not just over Neal’s abuse in prison, but about his reaction to Neal’s offer.

It had been close… too close… he’d very nearly said yes. If Neal had touched him… even if only by pressing that smooth, beckoning flesh into his outstretched hands… Peter would have been lost.

Finally, when Peter didn’t rise until nearly noon on Saturday, Elizabeth confronted the issue. “Peter, what happened between you and Neal?”

“Nothing!”

Peter’s answer was too quick and defensive by half. “Something,” Elizabeth replied calmly. “And you feel guilty over it. What did you do?”

“El, I swear: nothing happened. I didn’t do anything.”

Coming to sit beside him on the couch, Elizabeth took his face in her hands and kissed him. Peter wrapped his arms around her, absorbing the sweetness of her touch. “You did. You hurt Neal somehow, Peter, and you feel horrible because of it.” Peter stared at her, and Elizabeth smiled indulgently. “Peter, you’re a good man, and you’re very easy to read. You need to make things right with Neal. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”

“I don’t think I can, El.” Peter’s fingers flexed, drawing comfort from the softness of her skin. “Not this.”

“I know you can, Peter. You and Neal have a bond. You always have. You know what you have to do to fix things; just do it.”

“El… I can’t.” Peter’s dark eyes were anguished.

Elizabeth’s sapphire eyes hardened, her generous lips drawing into a firm line. “You will. And you’ll do it before I get back.”

Blinking, having clearly forgotten anything Elizabeth might have told him about this, Peter stood as she did. “Get back? From where?”

“The South Hampton charity ball. Yvonne’s little girl has chicken pox and Bethany is busy with the preparations for the Edgerton Philanthropic gala. I’ll be staying overnight. That should give you plenty of time to deal with whatever happened.”

“El… please.” Peter felt panic start to blossom in his chest. “I can’t.”

“You will, and by the time I get back tomorrow.” Elizabeth slipped on her jacket and shouldered her purse. “If you haven’t, I’ll drag you over to June’s and watch while you do.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. She couldn’t mean it… could she…?

“I mean it, Peter. You care for Neal too much to let this stay between you, whatever it is. It’s hurting you, and Neal needs to know he can count on you. You will fix it, or I will make you.” Stepping close again, Elizabeth took Peter’s face in her hands and gave him another gentle kiss. “I love you, Peter. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sliding his arms around her, crushing her against him, Peter sealed his lips to his wife’s. Every tender feeling he had for her welled up in that kiss, as if asking forgiveness and promising eternity all at once.

When his lips lifted, Elizabeth smiled at him, eyes shining. “I know, Peter. You tell me every day. I’m not the one that needs to hear it right now.” Before he could respond, she slipped free of his arms, took up her overnight bag from the hallway, and left.

Peter stood in the middle of the room, Elizabeth’s last words echoing in his mind. Could she have meant what he thought she meant? Or was he just twisting her words to rationalize doing what he wanted to do?

It didn’t really matter, in the end. Whether Elizabeth knew or not, gave her permission or not, there was only one way to fix things with Neal.

* * *

'Haversham' left June’s home just before midnight. The house was quiet and still. Understanding the situation, June had given Peter a key and the alarm code in case of emergencies. He used it now, slipping inside and up the stairs to Neal’s rooms.

The door was unlocked in the wake of ‘Haversham’s’ departure. Peter had left his shoes and coat down in the great hall closet. He was wearing just a button-down shirt, open at the collar, and comfortable jeans, trying to appear casual and inviting… hoping to appeal to Neal’s senses the way Neal always appealed to his.

Neal was standing at the door to the terrace, staring out into the night, blue eyes not registering the light-studded skyline of the city. His face was a study in isolation, every line of his body unguarded and vulnerable. “Hello, Peter.”

“Hello, Neal.” Even as quietly as he’d entered, Peter wasn’t trying to sneak up on Neal. He locked the door before crossing the room, keeping his pace slow and non-threatening.

Neal never moved as Peter approached him, his eyes gazing blindly out the door. “Another case? It’s kinda late.”

“We don’t have anything until Monday.”

“Elizabeth tell you to take pity on the poor con? Keep him company on a Saturday night?” Neal’s words were like droplets of acid on glass. “Or were you just making sure that I’m not on some kind of crime spree within my two-mile radius?”

“No.” Peter reached him and Neal turned, blue eyes clear but masked. “I’m not here because I don’t trust you, Neal. And I’m not here out of pity.”

“Then why?”

Peter stared down into those eyes: clearest blue, like a springtime sky just after sunrise. Neal had been right: they’d been dancing too long… dancing around this…

His answer was to slide his left hand up into Neal’s long, unruly dark hair. Fingers flexed against Neal’s scalp, gripping almost painfully, and he turned Neal’s face up by the force of that hold alone to receive his lips.

Neal stiffened, startled, but then his mouth opened under Peter’s and his arms slid around Peter’s torso. His whole body sighed into Peter’s as Peter pressed him back into the door frame, one leg sliding between Neal’s. There was no space between them; chest pressed to chest, Neal’s fingers digging into his shoulders and his hips shifting restively against Peter’s thigh. Peter’s free hand slid around Neal’s waist to pull him closer, until they were hip to hip and Neal was wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist.

Somehow, Peter broke them free of the door frame and carried Neal to bed. Their lips broke contact only to change the angle of the kiss, and Neal was rubbing against him like a cat as they fell onto the bed together, tiny sounds of want rolling in the back of his throat. Peter kissed his face, his throat, his jaw, hands stroking the lines of Neal’s hips and thighs, smiling as he nibbled at the underside of Neal’s jaw and Neal moaned.

The sound undid any hesitation Peter might have had. It was a sound Peter had wanted to hear for what felt like ages. He reared back, kneeling between Neal’s thighs, eyes locking with Neal’s as he pulled the soft cotton shirt from the slender body beneath him. His fingers splayed across the skin he’d bared, pale and warm as candle flame, and Neal’s eyes slid closed as he arched into the touch. It was the touch he needed… craved… Peter would never hurt him… he could trust Peter…

The submission radiated up Peter’s fingers, washing heat through his blood. He bent, kissing Neal again, and this time he didn’t stop with the slender column of Neal’s neck. His lips were determined to explore every inch. He closed his eyes, focusing on mapping Neal’s body by the touch of his mouth, carefully noting the pitch of his cries when Peter sucked hard enough to leave a bruise or nipped with sharp front teeth or laved with his tongue, marking the places that made Neal’s breath hitch in his throat. Neal’s hands were in his hair, but he wasn’t guiding and he wasn’t trying to stop Peter; he was trying to hold on, to remember who this was…

Peter was going to see to it that Neal had no doubts as to his lover’s identity. Neal might not know his own name by the end of the night, but he was going to be screaming Peter’s several times before they were done.

Sliding off the bed, crouching on the floor, Peter unfastened Neal’s trousers and stripped them away, along with Neal’s silk boxers. Long, long legs were bared to his gaze, and Peter started with Neal’s left ankle. Neal shot up off the bed as Peter tongued the sensitive skin hidden by the anklet tracker, nibbled at the Achilles tendon, whispered kisses up the calf that tickled the fine dark hair peppering his flesh. He half expected Peter to mention it; wanted to make some kind of joke about being willing to borrow Elizabeth’s razor if Peter wanted. But then Peter’s lips found the back of his knee and Neal’s brain lost the thought.

That tongue lingered, exploring the ticklish skin until Neal’s breath was coming in short pants; no longer able to reach Peter’s head, Neal fisted the sheets and fought not to cry out; Peter was generating hot sparks over every nerve, intensity that Neal had only thought he’d experienced before. He’d been wrong… very, very wrong…

Peter’s mouth slid up his inner thigh, sending cascades of shivers through Neal’s skin, and then Neal’s hands found Peter’s hair again and his breath came even shorter, punctuated with tiny cries as the heat of that mouth enveloped his erection.

It wasn’t gentle or lingering. Peter twisted his tongue, scraping his teeth along the sensitive throbbing veins, all the while sucking like he was trying to draw a fast food milkshake through a Silly-Straw. Neal wrapped his legs around Peter’s shoulders, every nerve in his body jumping like snapped electrical wires. Nothing about Peter had let Neal predict this… raw passion… let alone skill…

The heat released for a moment, and then Peter was tracing his tongue around the sensitive hood, flicking against the weeping tip, trailing long and wet down to the base and sweeping along the soft skin between the base of Neal’s erection and his scrotum. A momentary happiness that he shaved his pubic hair flashed in Neal’s brain before Peter’s mouth wrapped around the heavy flesh beneath his erection and Neal had no more words, no more thoughts. A choking gasp guttered in his throat, punctuated by a wail as his entire body jerked at the sensation of Peter’s finger, wet with saliva, slowly working its way inside him.

Just one finger, slow and steady, teasing its way into him and stroking in time with Peter’s tongue. Neal couldn’t breathe. He was keening instead, his entire body quivering and grasping and needing Peter with ferocity he’d never known. Just one finger, no matter how sweetly Neal begged without words for more, providing a devastating counterpoint to the tongue that seemed to know how to reduce him to mindless wanton need far too easily… one finger thrusting shallow, sinking deep, changing in a pattern that Neal couldn’t predict… And then Peter’s teeth found the tip of his erection and worried it…

Neal overloaded, pleasure/pain driving him over the edge. Peter’s name tore through his lips as Neal came hard, every muscle clenching in an effort to keep Peter close.

When the whiteness receded from his vision, he registered that Peter’s lips were withdrawing from the head of his softening erection. Peter hadn’t just brought him off. Peter had wrapped his mouth around him as he’d climaxed and drunk him down.

Hell, Kate didn’t even do that. She _hated_ swallowing.

The very idea of Kate felt intrusive right now. Neal pushed her away, would analyze why he wanted to another time. Peter’s finger was no longer inside him, and those talented lips were scattering tiny kisses over Neal’s stomach, and Neal was unable to form words.

There were no words for the expression on Peter’s face just now. Powerful, masterful, sensual. He had brought Neal to a shattering orgasm and he obviously wasn’t done yet, if how he was touching Neal was any indication. Hell, Peter hadn’t even undressed.

Irony finally brought Neal’s voice back. “Aren’t you a little overdressed?”

Those dark eyes flickered to his, and a smile crossed Peter’s face that Neal had never seen before. “I’ll get naked in good time, Neal. I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“I could handle it for you,” Neal offered, feeling unsteady and giddy and a little uncertain.

One of those hands wrapped around Neal; a moan drove through his lips as Neal got hard again so fast that his vision swam. “You’re the one being handled, Neal. I’m your handler. At the office, at home, when you’re out on little escapades with ‘Haversham’, when you’re unraveling the breadcrumb trail Kate’s leaving you… I’m your handler. Got it?”

“Peter…” Neal shook, a frisson of fear lacing the passion that washed over and through him. He couldn’t do with Peter what he’d done in prison… couldn’t just submit when Peter wanted to fuck… “Peter, wait…”

Peter’s lips sealed over his, tongue delving between his lips and mapping his mouth like a new possession being examined. The hand wrapped around his resurgent erection stroked idly, and Neal’s hips bucked into that grip. His lower lip got nipped in chastisement, and then soothed with a soft lap of Peter’s tongue. “I’m responsible for you,” Peter murmured, his voice dark and husky. “That means I’ll take care of you… always. But it goes both ways, Neal. You want to be taken care of? You have to be willing to do what I say. You have to trust me, Neal… and not just pay lip service.”

“Then you have to trust me, Peter.” Neal barely found the will to counter him, to do more than just agree to whatever Peter wanted in exchange for more of what Peter was offering. “If I trust you, and do what you say, will you trust me? Stop threatening to send me back to prison? Stop suspecting me of going back to the life behind your back?”

For a moment, Peter was tempted to make Kate a condition. Right here, right now, he could make Neal agree to any condition and Peter knew it. But it could break the spell to say her name, and Peter had plans for the rest of the night that involved Neal forgetting he even knew the girl. “You trust me; I trust you.”

Neal reached up and caught Peter’s head in his hands, drawing him down for an open, passionate kiss that sealed their bargain.

For a moment, Peter groaned into Neal’s mouth and sank against his body. Neal tangled arms and legs around him, clinging in wanton abandon. He needed Peter, bone-deep and desperate, victory over their trust bargain flowing through him like warm brandy. But then Peter twisted free, working his way down Neal’s body with his mouth again, slow and deliberate and rebuilding the blaze he’d created earlier; Neal wasn’t sure what Peter was doing, especially since Peter still hadn’t removed any clothes.

Rather than giving him another blow-job, Peter flipped Neal onto his stomach when he was able to slide off the bed again. Neal crossed his arms and rested his head against them, bracing his knees against the mattress and presenting. However Peter wanted to do this, Neal didn’t particularly care. It was going to be better than anything he’d had in a long time… Peter wasn’t going to hurt him…

Except there was no slide of fabric against skin. No tear of a condom wrapper or pop of a lubricant bottle’s cap. Peter pressed Neal down until he was flat to the bed, and then his mouth returned, this time working its way up from his right ankle. Confusion ran under the pleasure this time; he couldn’t predict what Peter was up to. Nothing seemed to make sense…

Peter’s teeth nipped at Neal’s right cheek, carefully pinching into the firm globe. Neal moaned, jumping just a little in surprise. Peter was full of surprises tonight… that tongue drew along the line where his cheeks met and Neal jumped again, crying out. The sensation was new, evocative… same-sex couplings with marks were quick; efficient; usually without time for much foreplay… and Kate had never… Kate would never…

Warm hands splayed over him, one on each cheek, kneading and massaging with an expertise Neal would never have guessed Peter capable of. He moaned, long and low, nearly purring… Those fingers pressed his cheeks apart, exposing him to Peter… Neal found himself blushing even though Peter couldn’t see, wondering what Peter was thinking…

A question that went up in flames as that tongue found the puckered opening it sought.

If not for those strong hands, Neal would have bucked clear off the bed. That tongue found him again and again: licking and dipping and probing and wriggling. Peter’s tongue. The same tongue that had explored every other part of his body. The same tongue that had mapped every nuance of his arousal… that same tongue was tasting him… lingering over him… Neal was incapable of being quiet or demure about his responses. He was fisting the sheets and bucking back against Peter’s mouth and panting Peter’s name like a prayer to a pagan god… Peter’s tongue explored the sensitive muscles with ruinous intent, mercilessly pushing Neal closer and closer…

Another sensory overload. Neal orgasmed hard, screaming Peter’s name as his release seemed to explode out of him and stars burst in hot novas behind his eyes. Peter held his hips, still kissing him _there_ , but more gently now, as if easing Neal back down after launching him into the stratosphere.

It didn’t register for a moment that Peter had moved. Neal’s mind felt muzzy, as if he’d gotten drunk as a sailor on leave, every muscle feeling heavy and his energy spent. He was still lying flat on the bed, splayed out for Peter’s view like a debauched angel. Peter’s hands had withdrawn, but Neal knew, instinctively, that Peter was still there.

When that touch returned, it was Peter’s left hand coming to rest almost soothingly on his hip. Gentle kisses brushed over his backside again, making Neal whimper as fresh surges of heat shot through him. But it wasn’t Peter’s tongue that returned to lavish attention on Neal’s entrance. It was his fingers, two this time, slick with lube that warmed on contact with his skin.

Neal gasped, a shudder racing through him. Peter was really… he was going to… Neal’s body reacted in conflicting ways, heat pooling in his stomach and his involuntary muscles clenching from ghosts of memory. Those lips brushed over the small of his back, the top of the cleft of his buttocks, the gentle taper of his hips. “Peter…”

“Easy, Neal… I’ll take care of you… I promised I’d take care of you…” Peter floated kisses everywhere, his fingers gentle and patient as they worked more lubricant into Neal… massaged the muscles that reacted out of unconscious emotion rather than conscious sensation. “Trust me, Neal… sweetheart, trust me…”

The endearment sent a spiral of tenderness through Neal that battled through the memories… the mistrust… Peter would take care of him… it was going to be all right… and God, but it felt good… it hadn’t felt good in years… it had never felt this good…

A third finger worked in; Neal hissed, sighed, moaned, spread his legs wider, flared his muscles to accommodate them… Peter nipped at the slight flare of his hip: a reward, an encouragement. He felt the scars; would have known what they meant even if Neal hadn’t told him days ago. It made him redouble his efforts, adding more lube and working as deep as he could to keep Neal relaxed and in need…

His fingers got deep enough to brush Neal’s prostate and Neal cried his name again, pressing his hips up into Peter’s fingers. Peter smiled and repeated the gentle stroke; another gasping cry left Neal and he nearly jack-knifed off the bed. Peter kept it up, pleased to see that Neal was fully aroused for the third time; nothing wrong with Neal’s endurance. Peter knew he might need to work on it a little to keep up with him, but he’d manage it. Elizabeth would probably appreciate it, too.

When Neal was near to wailing, his breath coming in shallow pants, Peter withdrew his hand and flipped Neal onto his back. Neal’s hands reached for him automatically as Peter pressed Neal’s thighs open wide. A smile twisted across Neal’s face; joy at seeing that Peter had taken the opportunity while Neal was recovering from his second orgasm to undress; and then Peter was kissing him, consuming him, breathing for him. Neal felt the familiar press of hard heat against his lubricated entrance and spread his legs wider, arching up and letting Peter slide in.

It was easy, natural; Peter took his time, burying himself in Neal with almost agonizing care and Neal let him, wanted him to, his body wanting to fight back but confused by the lack of pain. He wrapped his legs around Peter’s waist instead, kissing Peter’s shoulders and moaning in abandoned need.

Peter could have done anything at that moment, and Neal would have been powerless to stop him. Neal arched his hips in wanton invitation, letting him know it, wanting Peter’s possession more than he’d ever admit.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” came Peter’s voice in his ear. Neal opened his eyes to see Peter hovering just above him, dark eyes drinking in the sight of him: flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, hair in wild disarray across the sheets, eyes dilated and shining and brighter blue than Peter had ever seen before. “You have no idea how often I’ve wanted to see you like this… I get so damn jealous watching you flirt with everything that moves…”

“You do not,” Neal managed, aching for Peter to move… he clung to those wide shoulders and leaned up, licking those generous lips in invitation. “You love it… watching me turn on the charm… knowing at the end of the day that I belong to you…”

Peter’s hips slid back and snapped forward. Neal’s head fell back, his eyes rolling up into his head. “Only to me, Neal… not the Bureau… _me_ …”

“Yes…” Neal’s breath trembled and he clung to Peter as those hips drove into him again and again… taking possession… taking what had belonged to him for seven _long_ years…

It seemed to go on forever; they rocked together, Peter’s arms cradling him, Neal’s mouth pressing open kisses to any part of Peter he could reach, Peter whispering to him…

“You’re so damn hot… so tight and hot… perfect, Neal… sweetheart, you’re perfect… you have no idea… perfect and beautiful… and all mine…”

“Peter…” Neal tried to hang on, to hold back… he didn’t want it to stop… “Peter… I can’t… I’m…”

“You’re close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Peter slowed his hips, drawing it out, sinking deep and angling for Neal’s prostate with every stroke. Neal cried out and Peter smiled. “Tell me, Neal…”

“Yes… yes, Peter… I want… don’t stop…”

Tears were pricking the corners of those blue eyes. Peter dragged out of Neal’s body even slower than before, pressing deep and gentle as he kissed them away. “Look at me… Neal… sweetheart, look at me…” When those eyes opened obediently, Peter’s eyes were dark, possessive embers. “Let it happen, Neal… I won’t let go…”

The kiss descended, deep and open and allowing Neal to hide nothing as those hips picked up speed and power, slamming into Neal and practically hammering their bodies across the bed. Neal held on, trusting Peter… letting go…

For the third time that night, Neal climaxed so hard that he screamed, this one muffled by Peter’s mouth. His body clenched in hard spasms around Peter and Peter allowed himself to follow Neal off the edge of the world, erupting inside the condom and clinging to Neal’s lithe, shaking body.

It seemed like forever before either man moved. Neal felt Peter slip out, moving away to dispose of the condom. The withdrawal of warmth, the emptiness of his arms, the sweet, lingering ache of a body well-pleasured after going so long without… Neal curled up on the bed, shaking, trying to hold the tears back.

And then Peter was there, drawing him up to the pillows and into his arms. Neal buried his face into Peter’s shoulder, tears leaking from his eyes as he fought to get his emotions under control. And Peter let him, just rubbed soft circles at the small of his back and let him. No ‘cowboy up’, no floundering… he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to make it better… he just let Neal be there in the safety of his arms.

When Neal collected himself, Peter kissed his forehead. “You ready to cowboy up?”

Neal laughed. It felt good to laugh in the afterglow. It hadn’t happened in far too long. “Yeah… yeah.” Neal kissed his shoulder, fingers tracing the cords of muscles on Peter’s back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Peter didn’t ask why he was being thanked. He knew why.

For several minutes, neither spoke. They’d run out of things to say. Finally, Neal asked softly: “Do you have to leave?”

“El’s in the Hamptons for some charity thing; won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“So this is just because El’s out of town?” The idea cut Neal to the quick, and he wasn’t quite sure he was hiding it right now. He wondered if he’d ever be able to hide anything from Peter ever again.

“ _This_ is because you were right: we’ve been dancing around this too long.” Peter sighed. “I’m not making any promises, Neal. I have no idea how this is going to work after tonight… or if it’ll work at all. But I’m here now, and I’m not letting you go. I’m responsible for you.” He brushed a kiss over Neal’s hairline. “I trust you.”

Neal nestled closer, burrowing into the warmth and safety. ‘I’m responsible for you’ was starting to sound like something else entirely, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. He didn’t want to try and work it out right now… when right now was all of this that he might ever have.

The sharp pang of disappointment that thought evoked didn’t bear scrutinizing just now, either.

“Then let’s not waste the night,” Neal whispered. He began pressing kisses over Peter’s chest, urging Peter to lie on his back. “Up for it?”

Peter laughed, watching the sparkle and charm slip back into Neal’s eyes. Seeing Neal like this, naked and mussed and joyous, could quickly become addictive. “Condoms are in the jeans,” he instructed, his voice deep and husky.

Neal bit his lip for a moment, needing to offer something after everything Peter had given… “We don’t have to…”

His face was suddenly caught in those warm, gentle hands; Neal was transfixed by the intensity of Peter’s expression. “Yes… we do. I trust you… you trust me… but some things shouldn’t be rushed.”

Tenderness spiraled through Neal’s chest again and he smiled, sparkling and sweet, before squirming out of Peter’s grip. “No… definitely shouldn’t rush this.”


End file.
